Ordinary Beauty

Photo used without permission of the Seattle Post Intelligencer

Seattle’s Pike Place Market is well known for “flying fish”, a giant bronze Pig, and, The Clock, a triangulation of landmarks which has become a common meeting place for folks gathering in The Market.

Last Thursday night, I gathered there with half a dozen friends and two dozen strangers for something that is much less well known, but much more thrilling, a Ghost Tour of The Market led by Mercedes Yeager.

I’ve known Mercedes for years, since those four years that I lived in The Market, but Thursday night as she led us through The Market and told us its stories, I finally got to see her in her milieu, and it was a delightful (Halloween) treat.

Her tour I now deem a “Must”. Mercedes truly regaled us with story. After more than four years of intimate involvement at the Pike Place Market, and almost fifty years of experience in Seattle, you’d think I would know something of this world. I guess I do. But Mercedes Yeager puts a tasty, sultry spin on Seattle’s history.

If you are looking for something to do with those out-of-town visitors, do this.

My future new home. And me, in it. A little uncertain, I must admit.

photo: Heather Wofford

It is 2:19 p.m. I am STILL sitting, waiting. My name has yet to be called, so I wear my “JUROR” badge with some falseness. All that I am juror of is this process.

If it weren’t for my experience at the law office, I would be extremely frustrated by now. There are dozens of us here who have not even yet been called to voir dire. Just waiting for I don’t know what.

But I’ve learned that, at least in civil matters, people settle their differences at the last minute, avoiding the cost and stress of trial. So, the court can’t really predict if we’ll be needed or not.

So, when you pack your bag to head out for the call for jury duty, you’ll want to include some snacks and beverages, maybe lunch even, those thank-you notes you’ve been meaning to write, a couple of pens (’cause one will run out), aspirin, hand lotion, a couple of tasty treats, your fully charged cell phone. And dress comfortably. Duh, but hey, this is a LOT of sitting, in standard issue cafeteria chairs. Hard on the arse.

In King County (Washington) Superior Court, here’s how it goes.

You arrive. They scan the bar code on your summons, give you a Juror Biographical Form, and point you to the clipboards on the wall. The double doors on your left open into a large, and on this day, very sunny and warm room full of chairs and a smattering of folks who arrived earlier than you. This trickle of arrivals goes on for quite awhile, well past the appointed 8:00 a.m. time that we are assigned to be here. It’s not about promptness, but that’s nice, because parking can be an adventure, so the best intentions can go awry.

The Juror Biographical Form is in triplicate NCR paper, and wants to know your name, age, how long you’ve lived in Washington, how long you have lived in King County, your number of years of education, where you were born, how many children of what gender and age, do you drive a car, have you been convicted of a crime, your occupation. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN PARTY TO A LAWSUIT? HAVE YOU EVER MADE A CLAIM FOR INJURIES? HAVE YOU EVER SERVED ON A JURY?

Actually, all the queries are in all caps. Do print firmly and clearly.

The top white sheet is the DEFENSE COPY, the yellow one is for the PROSECUTOR, and the pink page is COURT COPY.

Done with the form yet? Well, be still and patient. Not much is going to happen for awhile. But eventually, at least today, a Judge gives an inspiring speech (see previous blog post) and a prerecorded video goes on for awhile. Go ahead and read your book or flip through the newspaper or whatever during the video, as the room is full of people nonchalent about it. But, if you are unfamiliar with the court system, you really might want to attend to it, it will give you a bit of a sense of what is ahead in the courtroom.

So about now in, you might start visually meandering around the room, rather like how you might read the advertisement signs on the bus just because there’s nothing else to do. Don’t let the huge stack of paperback books on the windowsill frighten you, but you might want to take it as a sign of what is ahead. Of course you aren’t frightened by those stacks, because having read this missive, you know to bring your own reading material, something light and interruptable, and something more intense as well, since there will be moments to fill during which you have to pay attention to the upcoming announcements, and other long stretches when all you are doing is waiting.

Do plan on sitting and waiting. The amount of waiting is unpredictable. Plan accordingly. (ha ha, get it? plan for the unpredicatable! ha ha)

Oh. Bring your sense of humour and lightness with you. It might come in handy.

Today is the day I get to do some civic duty. Here I sit, where I’ve sat for 2 hours and 19 minutes so far this morning, awaiting my name to be called so that I can be assigned a number so that I can be served a summons so that I can be pulled onto a panel of jurors. And then, and then, and then, the panel gets called into a courtroom and screened. But more on that later, if I make it that far.

The morning started out with an actually inspiring introduction by one of the Superior Court Judges. I forget his name, but I mean to ask, because he strikes me as having qualities to be a good judge, someone to take note of. His presentation subtly addressed some of the common misgivings about this jury duty chore, and he re-packaged them into something more palatable.

I mean, granted, the sunrise this morning was beautiful, and choice to absorb, and I saw a view of Mt. Rainier that I don’t know that I’ve ever had, all ethereal white somehow. However, I was out of bed by 5 a.m., not my favorite sport. That would be about six hours of sleep, only, not my best condition.

Anyway, after the Judge’s inspiring speech, there was a video on the tv monitors, about how there will be plaintiffs and defendants and evidence and so on. It encouraged impartiality, with many references to the founding fathers and the importance of decision by juror (rather than by some king somewhere I suppose).

It would have been nice if they’d given us a little more information in advance, of how this is going to go. All the sitting and waiting. I mean, I brought stuff to read, and obviously I’ve a laptop–but some advance suggestions about such things would have been kind. I do hope that a stretching and exercise video doesn’t come on the monitor, like it does on those long trans-atlantic flights … they’re silly.

More, later. After “something” actually “happens”.

I made myself a very tidy ToDo List before leaving the office today, and now I cannot find it; I must have left it on the desk, which means of course that I have nothing more pressing ToDo than meddle with this blog.

My friend Dominique, whom I think is probably the epitome of Dork, has a new video. There’s like this fancy way to just upload it to blogs, but for some reason the Google video site does not include my blog backend (wordpress) amongst the options. So, go ahead click and see for yourself. Somewhere amongst his stuff is a great piece involving a loud machine.

Wednesday morning I have to report for jury duty. Everyone near me knows I’ve been complaining about this. It’s not the duty of it, it’s the crazy ass location of it. Somehow I’ve been called to the Reginal Justice Center in Kent, which from my apartment in morning rush hour, who knows how long it will take to get there, so I have to leave insanely early, which means I have to get up stupidly early. It’s called stupidly early because getting up that early leaves me muddled and stupid.

Really, I wish I was called to the Seattle courthouse, a twenty minute bus ride from my home. That I might even enjoy. Who’s in charge of this stuff anyway.

So, my goal of course is to see if I can get kicked out of the pool. That’s wrong, sure. But cripes. Between being half asleep and my generally variable and leaky memory, no one in their right mind would want me making decisions about their case.

Circus Contraption has concocted a party for which we’ve alreay purchased our tickets. JINXED: A Halloween Blowout. It’s nice to have my second favorite circus back in town.

photo: Charmaine Seather

Actually, it’s been almost a month now since the big day, my 50th birthday. But life has been full tilt and most of my mental reflecting happens during my drivetime commute, which is not a great opportunity to write. Hmm, especially since I seem to be once again on a trajectory which places me in the path of other motorists who wish to occupy the same space as I.

I thought I was done with the near-miss near-fatal encounters. But there seems to be a resurrgance of these adrenilin-inducing vehicular interchanges where some driver or another fails to factor my presence into their design for their journey. And these suckers are driving FAST, too. Cripes. Not just near collisions, really, these situations require full-on avoidance manuevers.

Surely these are only courtesy reminders from the cosmos that I ought to be paying full attention, be staying fully present and aware in my moments. For it is only by virtue of having been aware and capable of avoidance manuevers that I wasn’t pullverized, or at least head-to-toe bruised in one of these encouters these last few weeks.

For certain, one thing my Big Day highlighted is how few “moments” we each are allowed, and how fleeting and fast they pass by. I swear it was only a few months ago that I celebrated my 40th, but here it was, my 50th. And so much has happened in the last ten years–if I meander through the memories and the changes, obviously many years have passed. But when I simply look back quickly, it has been quick, or so it feels.

So I suspect that before I know it, I will be 60, then 70, and so on.

photo: Heather Wofford

I do consider the last 20 years or so to have been a gift. I’m rather startled to be this age, to have lived this long. I did not expect to. I really expected to expire long ago. Not like a death wish or something, it’s just that it’s always seemed that I wasn’t destined to live much past 25. Hmmm.

And then there is my friend, Jon, for whom that past 25 really has been a gift. A gift that he’s worked hard to receive. It’s been some 25 years ago that he acquired Hep C.
Jon failed to call me with birthday wishes, and at first I thought he was just going to surprise me and show up at my party (a journey of 100s of miles). But he did not, and I worried. I called, and got his voicemail.
Sunday, a week or so later, he called. He did not sound right. We talked awhile, and in time, he admitted that he was on morphine, and dying, and that he expected hospice would come in the coming week.
I am reluctant to call him again. I am afraid I will leave voicemail for a man who is dead.

After his news, I cried. Hard.

He’s loved me longer than anyone now living. He’s been my champion and he’s been my protector. He’s one of the last people who knows me who also knew my parents.
It is very strange to come to these points. Doors close.

Doors open.

And I grapple now with mourning and celebrating all in one.